


alternate ending

by Everbliss_Studios



Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 05:54:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28808436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Everbliss_Studios/pseuds/Everbliss_Studios





	alternate ending

‘I was twenty when I was first published and by the age of thirty-one, I had attained every non-fiction award I was eligible for. The Nobel got to my head and looking back, I find myself amused at the verbose language I employed. My works would lose the simplicity of my youth. The biting and caustic tone replaced in favor of flowery language. What point was there if only those studying philosophy could understand my words? If young heroes could not find meaning to my words had I not failed?’  
—Excerpt from ‘Reminiscing on the Final Hour’ by Hinata Ononoki.  
Kouta Izumi wakes up groggy. Something is wrong. The world feels wrong. Not the wrongness when it was about to end. That had been different. That had been ice and fire and fear curled deep in his chest. Those moments had been so terrifying and every adult around him had been scared as well.  
This feeling is different. It is midnight and he should be fast asleep, but there’s somеthing in the air that keeps him from returning to sleep. When the Singers arrived, Kouta knew things could never be the same. This feels similar.  
He slips out of bed quietly and walks barefoot. The compound is always kept at a reasonable temperature even if Kouta thinks it gets a bit too cold.  
He’s not sure where he’s going but he knows he needs to be somewhere. He passes by the security officers and other staff that keep the compound running. He isn’t sure why they listen to him when he asks for stuff like cake. It’s probably because of Izuku.  
Izuku’s office is a place he’s allowed to go to but he tries not to. His brother always looks stressed when he’s there. Sometimes because of the book he’s trying to write but mostly because of the news reports he tries to keep hidden from Kouta.  
Despite what Izuku thinks, he isn’t stupid. He knows bad things are happening. The world is breaking at the seams. Anyone can figure that out.  
The door is cracked open slightly and he can see inside a bit.  
His brother is deep in conversation with Fumikage who is always nice to him and knows what to say whenever Kouta is upset or has nightmares. Which is a lot of the time. Every night would be more accurate. Sometimes it’s because of Muscular. Sometimes it’s the fear he had the day his brother left to fight. Kouta is eight and as far as he’s concerned, everyone he loves eventually leaves him.  
He hears the word ‘Jupiter’ get thrown around a lot, unsure of why they’re talking about the planet. He’d understand if they were talking about the moon. That’s still gone and it is always weird to see the sky pitch black at night. It should be a full moon tonight but instead, the world is bather in darkness.  
Fumikage throws his hands up in frustration and stalks towards the door. Kouta presses against the wall and holds his breath as Fumikage exits.  
“You should be in bed,” Fumikage says without looking back. “What’s wrong?”  
“Can’t sleep.”  
“Hm, I suppose it is that sort of night. Go talk to your brother. Maybe he’ll listen to you.”  
Kouta nods. “Okay.”  
He waits until the hallway is empty before opening the door. Izuku sits on the couch, arms stretched out across the back. He’s looking up at the ceiling and not at Kouta. So, he doesn’t notice until Kouta settles lightly on the cushion next to him.  
“Why are you fighting?”  
“We’re not fighting.” Izuku ruffles his hair, still not looking at him. “You should go to bed.”  
“After you tell me.”  
Izuku sighs. "A lot is going on. A lot of… protests and people arguing about unimportant things. A lot of people want answers and I'm just not ready. I suffered enough. I just want a few months to recover. Fumikage wants to head back out and deal with things before they come.”  
“You’re scared?”  
His brother nods. “Yeah.”  
“I’m disappointed, I guess.”  
Izuku pulls him close. He’s always warm no matter how cold it is. Maybe not as warm as Shouto, but he’s freezing cold on one half. Also, Shouto is kinda scary. Izuku stays quiet long enough that Kouta starts dozing lightly. If there’s one place he knows he’ll be safe, it’s right beside his brother.  
“Sorry. I guess I’m not a great brother.”  
He blinks the tiredness away. “It’s not that. I just… do you remember that kid? When you told everyone about All Might—"  
"Not you too," he mutters. "Yeah, I remember it."  
"I'm disappointed because you were you. Like, you were the most you that I've ever seen. There's Izuku, right, who's my brother. But there's Izuku the hero and you're only him when you refuse to stand aside. Like when you saved me from Muscular."  
“You think so. You think that’s me?”  
Kouta leans closer. “I think that's a big part of you.”  
“But it isn't the only part.”  
When Inko died, Izuku had been close to the edge. He had been lightning and darkness and anger for so long. Most importantly, he had been strong.  
Kouta has had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting All For One, the Strongest Man Alive. In him, Kouta had seen strength.  
Izuku surpassed that strength.  
“Do you remember the promise you made?” Kouta doesn’t look at his brother, knowing he might see something that stops him. “You’d get strong enough that no one would ever hurt us again.”  
Izuku inhales deeply. “I am that strong.”  
“We're hiding on an island because people would hurt me on the mainland. I don’t want to live like this forever.”  
“Kouta, I... You don't know what it means to do that. Don’t ask me for this. Please.”  
“And what about Mum? A world where she didn’t have to... I miss her so much.”  
Izuku’s arm around his shoulder is tight, one notch below crushing. For a man who can crush mountains, this level of restraint must suck.  
“I miss her too.”  
“So make that world. Make a world we both want. I think you’re happiest when you’re fighting to save people. When you’re fighting to make things better.”  
He falls asleep leaning against his brother.  
*****  
The years pass quickly for Kouta, so quickly he almost can’t believe how different things have become. He can barely believe he had a quirk in his youth until a bullet took it from him. The idea that his kind brother is now a dictator sickens him to the core.  
Kouta reads news reports from his extravagant lounge in his private wing of the palace. He's not sure if he's read it right the first two times so he reads it for the third time. Then he throws the tablet at the wall and rolls out of bed, stumbling when vertigo hits him. He fucking hates hangovers but he enjoys partying a lot more.  
They’re good for drowning out all the memories of his childhood and losing his quirk. He’s lived without a quirk longer than he’s had it. At twenty-three, the memories are still vivid.  
He throws on a jacket and a pair of trousers. Walks out of his rooms. Stalks the palace in search of Izuku.  
It takes him about ten minutes to figure out he’s in a meeting with some diplomats. The guards and servants are all smart enough to stay out of his way as he barges through the massive double-doors.  
“Izuku,” he roars, “what the fuck?”  
That startles the diplomats and advisors in the room. One even dares to stand before Kouta. "Show some respect to the High Consul.”  
“Shut the hell up.” He glares at Izuku clad in his dark uniform and green mantle. “We’re having this argument right the fuck now.”  
His brother, adopted though he may be, raises a hand to his temple. "Please excuse me," he says and makes a shooing motion to the diplomats.  
“Sir, surely—”  
“I’m asking politely,” his brother warns the diplomat gently. After all, they’re here at Izuku’s pleasure.  
The diplomat nods, displeased. “As you say, High Consul.”  
Kouta waits until they’re out before glaring at his brother. “How fucking long are you going to justify these slaughters in the name of peace?”  
"It was contamination that had to be dealt with," Izuku says, already knowing what Kouta's talking about. "We were discussing how best to provide aid before you barged in."  
"Discussing it with those sycophants trying to cozy up with the mighty High Consul? I remember a time when you let people question you.”  
“You know that my time as High Consul is ending in fifteen years. I’ll be dissolving the position and granting the Federation Council executive authority.”  
“What dictator has ever given up power?”  
“I’m not a dictator,” Izuku says tiredly. They’ve had this argument before and always will. “I did what I must.”  
“That’s what Titan said. You’re just as bad as him.”  
Something dark and terrible crosses his brother’s features. For a moment, there is nothing resembling kindness or humanity. Only darkness that will consume the world and lightning to shatter the remains.  
“Do you even remember how bad things were in Japan?” Izuku asks, life returning to his voice with each syllable.  
Sometimes he forgets what it means to be human. Kouta’s seen all three of them behave like that, as if humans are finite and disposable. It terrifies him but not enough that he’ll ever keep quiet.  
If he stays silent then they will forget that human lives matter. Even if it pits him against Shouto who wants Kouta dead. If Shouto actually gave two shits he would have used his ice to give Kouta his quirk back; a fact Kouta hopes Izuku never realises.  
For all his intelligence, love completely blinds Izuku when it comes to Shouto or Fumikage.  
“Fuck you.”  
“No, of course not. I kept you protected from everything. You never saw the wars and chaos. Do you know how Korea or the Philippines looked before we took over? The people there have jobs and safety and a say in this Federation.”  
Kouta laughs cynically, unafraid of the sky rumbling with thunder. “Only as much say as you permit them. You fucking burnt down Sydney.”  
“It was tainted by the abyss. The people there were too far gone to save.”  
“I remember when you were a hero.”  
Izuku rubs his eyes. “You know what, take a trip to India. Or Tanzania. Or Paraguay. Actually, take a fucking trip to America and tell me what I’m doing is wrong.”  
“Oh, stop trying—”  
“I’m not justifying anything,” Izuku snarls. “You’re going there. I’m sick and tired of your whining when you don’t do anything to help. You live a life of fucking luxury. You’re educated by private tutors. You have more cars than most people will ever drive. Fucking hell, you think I haven’t seen how much you spend on alcohol. I’ve been too lenient with you ever since you lost your quirk.”  
Kouta steps back. The winds have calmed and the shadows still, but he knows how quickly that can change at any time.  
“I’m the only one who questions you and now you’re trying to get rid of me.”  
“Pick a country or I’ll pick one for you.”  
“Bullshit. You wouldn’t—”  
“America it is.” Izuku waves.  
A man seems to materialize right beside Kouta silently. “What the—”  
“Drop him in the middle of America and leave him there for a few months. Unless he’s about to die, don’t interfere.”  
The man grabs him by the arm roughly. “Wait, what the hell are you doing? Let go.”  
The man’s grip is implacable as he drags Kouta out. He doesn’t have his quirk anymore and only physical strength to rely on. That doesn’t help him.  
He’s dragged kicking and screaming out the office and through the palace, seen by anyone and everyone in the building.  
The man throws him onto a plane and straps him in against his will. “Wyoming is currently the safest state not under VIVA control. I’ll leave you there.”  
No matter how much he screams and shouts, the man is implacable. And why wouldn’t he be? He’s simply following an order from his god.  
The man dumps him in the middle of a city he doesn’t know the name of. It’s scorching hot and dry and feels foreign.  
“See you in a few years.”  
He doesn’t understand how Wyoming is the safest state when he’s mugged not an hour after setting down. There’s a line of red from when the knife was pressed against his throat and he knew the fear of death.  
He runs and finds an abandoned-looking corner and crouches down, shaking. His breathing is fast and rapid.  
“Look what we got here.” Kouta looks up and sees a teen with a baseball bat, three friends similarly armed. “It looks like a rich kid.”  
Kouta doesn’t win the fight. He’s lucky to make it out without any broken bones, and only a few nasty bruises.  
He leans against a building, tired and broken. He’s been here less than a day. He’s got another three years left.  
“Fuck my life.”  
“Is that an offer?”  
Kouta forces himself up and prepares for another fight he’s probably going to lose. It is the first of many. It takes him weeks to learn which areas are safer than others, which gangs won’t shoot you down the moment a deal is complete, and which clinic isn’t a front for organ harvesting.  
He takes everything he has learnt from watching Izuku and Shouto and Fumikage. Applies those lessons to this harsh and unforgiving world. It takes him six months before he’s found a group of teens easy to sway. Another two months before he carves out a small protection racket niche. A year in, his gang has grown. People trust them because of the order and discipline they have.  
A year and a half in, he’s forced to take his first life. It hurts because It isn’t an enemy. Rather, it’s the very first person he recruited and learnt to trust.  
“Why?” Kouta asks simply.  
His friend, his betrayer, spits in his face. “Fuck you.”  
Kouta pulls the trigger.  
He becomes more ruthless after that, recruiting endlessly from the disenfranchised and weak. He shows no mercy to his enemies but honors his debts and deals. Five years from the day he was left there, he’s become something of a kingpin in Wyoming.  
Izuku comes personally to pick him up. He looks more tired than usual. “Hey,” he says.  
“Hey,” Kouta replies, angry and bitter and humiliated.  
“One day we’ll come to the Americas and bring peace here as well.”  
“I know.”  
He clasps Kouta’s shoulder. “You’ve helped. This gang of yours will be the first step in stabilizing the state. Give them a uniform and they might as well be police.”  
“I know.”  
Izuku frowns. “Do you want to stay? It’s your choice.”  
He looks back at the dilapidated homes and the people dying. He’s never seen a person starve to death until Wyoming. In the aftermath of Japan's great war, Kouta thought he knew suffering.  
Wyoming taught him the true definition of that word.  
“No.”  
He walks onto the plane and never looks back.  
*****  
The years pass peacefully for Kouta. He spends his time getting a university education in history, his childhood dream. Telling the stories of those who had been forgotten captivated him as a youth. Left bereft of purpose after leaving America, and terrified of picking up a weapon, he’d fallen deep into academia.  
The world hasn’t stopped turning despite Kouta’s need to find a peaceful life. Izuku’s Federation has been at war with Russia for eight years now. Kouta expects he’ll graduate with his doctorate during the tenth year of that campaign. He’s spent a year with the army, recording the tales of the regiments, and setting up a small arm of the military to record the histories of the army regiments.  
It had been awkward work, not least because he had to try avoiding Shuichi. It’s hard not to remember being a weak and powerless child whenever he sees Shuichi.  
“You need to stop skipping meals.”  
Kouta looks up from his screen, taking his eyes off an eye-witness account of All Might’s last moments. Every book and academic journal in his room is related somehow to the events in the years leading up to the Singers.  
It is one of Fumikage’s adopted children who has disturbed him. He remembers playing with the tanuki when they were younger. Now, he’s got kids of his own. It makes Kouta remembers he’s got a bad knee and grey hairs.  
“Sorry. It’s just… this research is too important.”  
“Why?”  
“I want to tell the story of the night the Federation was born,” Kouta informs his… brother? Cousin? Even after all these years, he isn’t sure what to call the children Fumikage claimed as his own decades ago, or the children they have had since.  
They’re family regardless, mortal like him. With hopes and fears untainted by unfathomable power.  
“But everyone already knows the history of the Federation,” Gaara whines, his snout scrunching in distaste.  
Unsaid is they both went through the bloodiest years of it. They’re both related to people with so much blood on their hands it is horrifying. Sickening, even, that they were complicit in that blood being spilt, their great crime had been to standing aside.  
Kouta smiles gently. “We don’t. Not really. We know the hard events, but we’ve extrapolated backwards. I barely remember the conversation I had with Izuku that night, but I think he feared moving forward. I helped move him forward. But I don’t know what Shuichi or Fumikage or Shouto were doing the rest of the night.”  
“Okay, but that sounds like a short story.”  
“If you only take the events without context. But their personal histories and beliefs are just as important. How much do we really know about One For All and All For One?” he asks the tanuki.  
“The greatest hero and villain of the Modern Hero Era. The last as well.”  
That era had truly ended when All Might and All For One had their grand battle. With the League villains rebranding as legitimate citizens and the villains of Vancouver Island starting their own nation, the old idea of villainy died. With so many heroes dead, heroes who propped up a terrible system, their continued existence had ended.  
The age of heroes died that day and Izuku Midoriya killed it.  
“Sure, but that’s superficial. What drove them to both agree Izuku was the best successor? Two people, diametrically opposed to one another, chose one person to inherit their power and legacy. The odds of that are astronomical. We need to know their story to know how they made Izuku into the person he was that night. We need that just to start talking about why Izuku agreed to Federation.”  
“Sounds boring.”  
“Maybe,” Kouta agrees, “but I think it’ll be interesting. What drove Shouto, the least diplomatic person I know, to become a diplomat? What drove him to that role? We need to look at Endeavour and Rei to even begin piecing how they made him the person he was that night, the person willing to leave his lover for the moon just for a plan.”  
“Are they still fighting?”  
Kouta hums in consideration. The fight between Izuku and Shouto had been, by all accounts, spontaneous and without provocation. They had simply come to blows between one breath and the next, stopping only when Fumikage pulled them apart, hurling abuse and obscenities.  
It had escalated quickly and soon enough, all three of them were fighting on an abandoned island somewhere, Izuku and Shouto out for blood and Fumikage attempting to stop things getting worse.  
That island and everything within three hundred kilometres is a hellhole that refuses to even pretend to follow the laws of physics. It's a wasteland of churning darkness and infernal fire, creatures borne to death and being reborn constantly. Currently, it's under quarantine.  
That had been five years ago.  
Shouto and Izuku have yet to speak to each other, both using either Fumikage or Kouta as intermediaries. Trying to explain Izuku's rebuttal of a plan to Shouto had been nerve-wracking the first time.  
He’s become used to it. Even though he knows Shouto sees him as nothing more than an ant to be crushed, he’s learnt to conquer his fears. Why should anyone fear gravity or sunlight? They’ll be there tomorrow regardless of what you do.  
“I guess so,” Kouta agrees sadly. “They were both in the same city a few months back and nothing burnt down. So maybe another five years?”  
“I hope so.”  
“Things will get better.”  
“Okay, so you’re gonna look at grandpa? I can tell you what I know about him.”  
He is talking about Fumikage’s father who died protecting Gaara all those years ago. Kouta hadn’t known him in the slightest, but he’s grateful the man fought on the frontlines to keep the bunker they were hiding in protected.  
“He’ll play a part. Fumikage got his anger from him. But we need to look at the Emperor and his Guard, Maya most of all. They waged a secret war against the abyss that taught Fumikage to be the hidden blade in the Federation’s enemies. It taught him to value efficiency over the sanctity of life. And to understand Shuichi is to understand Stain and the failings of Japan, the failings of heroics itself in the Modern Era.”  
“That sounds like a lot of work.”  
“It’ll be the work of a lifetime. But it will be my life’s work.”  
Hopefully, it will be a long life, one that he can be proud of when he looks back. Hopefully, he can tell the truth of those who were broken by their responsibilities. And if he can help even one person be remembered, then he will consider his life successful.  
*****  
“I accepted his oath,” Fumikage says. “I accepted his way of rule. And yet, he reneged on them immediately.”  
Kouta is much too old to fall out of his chair whenever someone materialises in his home. It has been a busy few years for everyone ever since Izuku committed his greatest sin. Kouta will never forgive what Izuku did. That crime had been so terrible he can’t even call him brother anymore.  
The evening breeze is fresh and warm. He had been enjoying the sight of the ocean from the deck of his home in Vladivostok. As the first of the Federation's Russian territories, it had been developed and expanded greatly. It is the crowning jewel of their Russain territories, a city of millions terraformed by the power of gods.  
It hadn’t been very hard to start his teaching career in Vladivostok as a guest lecturer. Given that his works have won a Nobel—the second in the family after Izuku—they had been honoured to accept him. And then he found someone he loved and settled down, purchasing a home overlooking the sea.  
When the skies are clear and the weather is calm, just as today, he can see across the ocean and glimpse the Niigata Spire built through abyssal technologies in Japan. It had been one of the first, designed to generate obscene levels of power and act as a shield against abyssal influence. Ever since its success, more and more had popped up across Federation territories.  
“Has he?” Kouta asks. “Or are his oaths irrelevant to this world?”  
It is something Fumikage will have to figure out on his own. Kouta has an answer but he’s come to learn that Shouto, Izuku, and Fumikage are nothing more than children given too much power. Children who are easily predisposed to cruelty.  
He’s one of their few tenuous connections to humanity. It’s why he pours Fumikage whiskey in the glass he’d intended for his partner. Fumikage accepts it gratefully, settling into the patio chair and stretching his legs out on the wooden deck.  
Scar tissue lines Kouta's shoulder, thick and ropy. He remembers the day he got that scar as if it was yesterday. How can he not when that injury pushed Izuku to commit his Great Sin? Izuku's great betrayal, an act that would make even Titan shake his head in disgust, and all of it caused by one injury. A simple bullet wound that missed its mark.  
He reminisces on that injury as Fumikage thinks, taking his time since they are alone.  
“No oath should be irrelevant,” Fumikage says eventually. “They are what keeps us human. I will never permit another California incident because of my oaths.”  
That day had been one of Fumikage’s great failures. A failure that led to much of California burnt to the ground to contain an abyssal threat. It had been the closest Fumikage had come to breaking. Kouta had done his best to mend his broken soul.  
Kouta jots that down in his notebook, handwriting neat as always. A decade with a personal tutor hadn’t done anything for his handwriting. But small things like letter writing and calligraphy are a form of power, one he employed in communicating with rivals in Wyoming.  
“Oaths are important,” he agrees. “But I think oaths can have an order of precedence. What was the oath you made when you were just a boy that you’ve followed since?”  
“To battle the abyss and protect mankind from the shadows.”  
“And you’ve done so. You have other oaths and obligations, but that’s the one you’ve followed at your core. You’re trying to be empathetic to other lives, but that first oath superseded them all.” Kouta smiles sadly. “How is India?”  
“You want to how many died because I kept the subcontinent divided. Too many. That’s the answer.” Fumikage leans back in his chair, staring at the clear sky. “The current war’s taken ten million as a conservative answer. Forty is a more accurate number if we include famine and disease.”  
“And that’s just one war you’ve engineered at Shouto’s behest.”  
“Are you trying to make him the villain of this story?” Fumikage huffs. “Izuku certainly thinks he is even though they’re talking again.”  
“Trying to map your interpersonal relationships is a nightmare all on its own, but no, that’s not what I’m implying. You made the choice to agree with this plan that fateful morning. Realistically, how many did you think would die? How long did you think this would take?”  
“A few decades, maybe.”  
“You never answered the first question.”  
Fumikage chuckles. “I was off by two orders of magnitude. Given that we consigned near a billion to death when the Singers manifested in China, I shouldn’t have been so naïve. Look at us, speaking so casually of genocide. Are you not sickened by what we’ve done?”  
Kouta takes his time writing down Fumikage’s response. It isn’t often that he gets to sit down and talk with any of them, and when he does, he takes every opportunity to add to his stack of notes. One day, he’ll finish his books.  
“It isn’t my place to decide history. I’m just here to record it all.”  
“That’s not an answer.”  
Kouta nods and sets his pen down, giving Fumikage his full attention. His shirt is ruffled and creased; the first time he’s looked so dishevelled in years. The last time had been California. Fumikage never forgave himself for what happened and to this day spends his time trying to make it liveable again.  
“I’ve been unfair to you,” Kouta says. “You know the laws of power and the nature of the great game. I’m not a player on that board.”  
“Tell that to the man who committed genocide because he thought you were hurt. If you asked, I’m almost certain he would change the plan to your whims.”  
“You’re being naïve if you think Shouto wouldn’t engineer my death to keep the plan going.”  
"He's…" Fumikage hums, considering his words. "I think Shouto knows that if we ever suspected him of being a party to that, then the plan would collapse. And the result would be war amongst us."  
“And that war would destroy the planet.”  
“More,” Fumikage says wearily. “There is no… do you remember their last fight? It changed the surrounding landmass and that was the equivalent of them shouting. The last time Izuku and I fought, Shouto threw us in another solar system and we split that galaxy in half. That was nothing more than, I suppose, slapping your lover when they annoy you. When I had a spat with Shouto, we destroyed a cluster of galaxies.”  
“Power must come with rules and ethics. That’s where my influence is strongest. You regret the deaths you’ve caused and see they aren’t as necessary as they once were. Expedient, but not necessary.”  
“Necessity is the death of morality.”  
“It is. I will never be able to forgive you for the lives you’ve taken,” Kouta says strongly. “But I am willing to accept the person who made those decisions. You can know someone, even care about them deeply, but not forgive them.”  
“Is that why you stopped calling Izuku your brother?”  
Kouto shakes his head. “No. I stopped doing so because it dragged him back to the past. I kept on romanticising his childhood by doing that and kept on giving him an excuse to ignore the present. There are no heroes in this world. One day, Izuku will have to acknowledge that he killed the age of heroes.”  
“I take it you don’t want me to tell him.”  
“Oh, I’ve told him multiple times. His tears don’t move me as much as they used to,” he admits ruefully. “But you must remember that the gap between us is absolute. If Izuku chooses not to listen then there is nothing I can do. I can’t suddenly tell gravity to stop working, now can I?”  
Fumikage looks older now, not physically, but something deep in his soul. His sigh is heavy, carrying the burden of too many lives.  
“We aren’t gods. Believing so was arrogance.”  
“You are. With a big ‘G’ at that. You aren’t human in the slightest but you pretend at it. I wonder some days if you can become the mask or if my actions are completely futile. I hope that one day you move away from the methods you're using now and towards something less sinister. And the only way to do that is for you to build a moral code. One that you follow and never exceed."  
“The chains that bind.”  
Kouta perks up in his seat. “Oh, I like that one.”  
“Like that what?”  
“It sounds like a good name for your book.”  
“You only ever think about those. I suppose it’s a bit vain and narcissistic that I encourage them.”  
Kouta can't help his laugh. The weather is beautiful and he sits beside someone who is a friend, protector and student all at once. Looking at Fumikage, he realises just how little he has aged. Decades have gone by and Fumikage looks like a young man, indifferent to the passage of time.  
For a moment, Kouta feels a crushing pang of loneliness, one borne of empathy. Kouta will die, and he’ll leave three Gods alone. Just as all mortals they learn to love will leave them behind.  
“Can I ask you about Maya?” he broaches.  
Fumikage falls still, silent as a mountain. She was the last Royal Guard and the first of Fumikage’s Crows. She was also a close friend and possibly his lover, but Kouta has yet to confirm that.  
She is also dead and has been so for decades. California took much from Fumikage. His hopes. His beliefs. His convictions.  
Maya.  
She was, perhaps, the greatest loss of that day. Fumikage’s self-destructive spiral had lasted a decade and it had been so painful to watch. Nothing Kouta did could ease that pain. And yet, like all things, time eventually allows the heart to mend. It’s never perfect, the emotional scar tissue getting thicker and tougher with each loss, but it means you can set one foot forward after another.  
“Yes,” Fumikage says slowly. “I think it’s time to accepts what happened. She was the one who gave me that title. Inquisitor. She never liked using it.”  
“What did she call you?”  
"Little Crow." He leans back. "My father did as well. Actually, I think it was a common practice."  
“I never called you that.”  
That startles a laugh out of Fumikage. “You were a bit difficult as a child.”  
“More difficult than your entire brood?”  
“Nowhere close, but thankfully I don’t have to raise them any longer. I think there’s a family gathering in a few weeks I will have to attend.”  
“Do they make you sit at the children’s table given that you’re shorter than most?”  
“I sit there of my own volition,” Fumikage says curtly.  
Kouta smiles. That Fumikage can speak of his lover, of his family, and not be bitter, is a welcome sign. There is hope that Fumikage, and his fellow Gods, will learn to find beauty in humanity. If they can do that, perhaps they can be benevolent as well.  
They speak for hours, casually and as friends. When Kouta’s partner returns, it is to the sight of a god being forced to bake cookies.  
*****  
In the decades that follow, Kouta grows old. There are no two ways to put it. Kouta buries his lover and mourns deeply, feeling his absence in every pore of his soul. Walking through their house gets difficult because memories permeate every inch of their home. How can there not be when they spent decades together?  
He travels for three years, visiting the nations that the Federation consumed first. He collects the stories of people from Korea and Indonesia and the Philippines and lets the world know them. Many of them are tales of bloodshed and pain, of conquest and oppression. What the Federation did is worse than every dictator combined. So many stories of slaughter and mercilessness and genocide.  
And yet, those are the stories of an older generation. The younger ones speak fondly of their great nation. They know the peace and stability that the Federation’s inexorable march brought. They know a world filled with abyssal magnificence, a world where the laws of physics are suggestions to be tweaked at will.  
He collects those stories and publishes them for people to read. ‘A People’s History of Federation,' he calls it and wins just about every award he can. All he truly cares about is that people remember whom the book is dedicated to, his husband and those forgotten by time.  
At one of his book signings, he meets a lady with a brilliant smile and an even more brilliant mind. For the first time in decades, Kouta finds himself tongue-tied. It takes them years to become close friends and then another two before Kouta is ready to enter another relationship.  
They have been going strong since then. It’s strange. They don’t live with each other and occasionally cook meals for one another, but he finds he loves her all the same. She doesn’t have children just like him, which makes things interesting. It doesn’t come as a surprise that his students like her more.  
As the years drag, he releases his books, one for each of the kings. They tell a tale of three broken boys given too much power and too much freedom. It condemns them for their sins but most importantly, it is the truth of their rise to power and the night the Federation was formed all those decades ago.  
He is completely unsurprised when they become holy works of Shouto’s church. 'The Great Historian' they call him. His enemies say it snidely, his contemporaries respectfully, but too many say it with reverence.  
In the background, as he lives a peaceful life, the Federation enters economic and political stability, but its hunger only grows. It consumes more of the world under the vast and inexorable war machine led by Shuichi or Shouto's diplomatic corps or Fumikage's hidden Crows.  
The world nears a tipping point. One half, the Federation, ruled through fear and abyssal technologies and godhood, and the other, the Euro-African Coalition, a final bastion towards humanity and democracy and peace.  
Two great nations stand ready to wage war for the right to decide the future. The battle lines are drawn on four separate fronts. The European front where both coalitions watch each other tensely at the border dividing Russia and the rest of Europe—Belarus and Ukraine will be the countries that suffer first. Turkey, seized from Kirishima’s rebellion, represents the second and third fronts: Istanbul leading to Europe and the border to Syria leading to the Middle East and through there, Egypt. The fourth split the Americas in half, a battlezone running the length of the world.  
War, it seems, is inevitable. This will be the greatest war ever seen and it will be the longest. Without nuclear weapons, it will be fought conventionally by soldiers on the ground and ships over the sea and drones in the sky. It will be a battle of technological paths, one favouring the power of quirks and the other testing unstable abyssal weaponry.  
The death toll is projected in the billions. It will be a war that outstrips the World Wars. It will be a war that puts Titan and Stormwind's wars for empire to shame. Perhaps it will be a war with more casualties than the Singers.  
“I refuse to accept this,” Kouta says, startling those around him.  
He sits in the command centre, surrounded by generals and admirals and the three gods who entertain his whims too often. These are men and women who will decide the fates of billions of lives, of the entire world. Compared to them, he should be unimportant.  
“Sir?” one of the generals says, respectfully.  
Kouta rises slowly, leaning heavily on his cane. Shouto, a man with too much blood on his hands, moves to help him. Kouta accepts his help gratefully.  
Fumikage watches him with poorly concealed worry as he walks to the front of the command centre. Kouta is old now, pushing ninety, and one wrong move might be an injury he will never recover from.  
“I’ve sat and listened to you debate and argue the merits of one plan over another for the last few days,” he says, walking along the stage floor calmly.  
Everyone watches him attentively. It is only natural. He is the Great Historian of this new era, the one who coined the era that passed with All Might and All For One, and the one who named this new age. Most importantly, he has three Gods protecting him and granting him favour. If he wished it, he could change the borderlines of the Federation or choose to rule the colonies as a despot.  
He has seen what comes of that route of power.  
“You’re all much smarter than me in your fields. Politics and geography and warfare are subjects I know little about. But I find myself disappointed in what you use your intelligence for. Are endless wars and constant death all you can imagine? Are mass graves all you seek? Do you want another generation of war? I certainly do not. I refuse this bleak and cruel future that you see.”  
They are shamed. Though no one interrupts him, he can see the shame on their faces. Only he has publicly stood up to the gods and denounced them.  
“I will go to Europe. I will speak to the leaders of the Coalition. I will ask the most important question. I will ask if peace is possible.”  
“This is foolishness,” one general says.  
“Perhaps it is,” Kouta agrees, “but this foolishness is the most important endeavour in human history. If peace is impossible, then the only way forward is through genocide and assassination and war.”  
He’s looking at the three kings by the end, judging them for their crimes and atrocities.  
He looks back to the humans in the room. “We must be worthy of the right to live. We must earn the right to choose our future, not have it decided for us.”  
Fumikage sighs. “You could be hurt. I doubt that will stop you.”  
“Human life is still life. If you used your power, we’d be nothing than slaves and it would not matter.”  
“You've always been headstrong,” Fumikage’s says fondly. “Make peace if you can.”  
Shouto shrugs. “If they hurt you, then it'll be fire and death.”  
“So long as you don’t decide our futures,” he says. “You could set humanity’s destiny in stone for your plan. You could take away our free will. But if you do, then you might as well burn us for all it matters. Without choice, our lives mean nothing.”  
“Be safe,” Izuku says.  
“Don’t commit another genocide whilst I’m gone.”  
He journeys to the border alone. There are escorts, of course, but they stay behind at the border. They are there simply to make sure he can reach the border unbothered, not that anyone would try to attack with Shuichi flying above.  
Eventually, he reaches the no-man’s land between the two great nations. Blood has been spilt already, small skirmishes heralding a much larger war. A war Kouta hopes to prevent. He wasn’t joking when he said this would be the most important question in history. Only Kouta understands how this battle will affect the three kings.  
If they see that humanity is inherently violent and unstable, then there is no telling what they will do. They may never give up their hold over mankind. They might irrevocably twist the human spirit into something that benefits their interests. Kouta has done his best to mitigate it, but it isn’t enough.  
At the border, he exits his car. He imagines there are dozens of drones watching his every move as he slowly walks across the tiny corridor that isn't riddled by mines. Well, he hopes there aren't mines. All is fair in war, after all.  
Eventually, an armoured vehicle approaches from the European side of the border. He can see two people riding on the outside, guns trained on Kouta. The vehicle comes to a stop, kicking up a massive smoke cloud.  
“Halt!”  
A soldier lands on the ground, gun trained on Kouta.  
Kouta walks forward, unafraid.  
“This is an act of war,” the man shouts.  
“Is peace possible?” Kouta asks. “If you fire on me, you answer that it isn’t and you will be responsible for the greatest war ever waged. So, I will ask you again, is peace possible?”  
The man doesn’t fire. No one wants to be responsible for that.  
“I am Kouta Midoriya. Take me to your leaders and let us speak of peace.”  
It takes hours of security checks, body searches, and even a short interrogation before he’s allowed to enter the grand hall of the Euro-African Coalition’s High Command. The flight to reach Zimbabwe takes ten hours alone. After the destruction of the Singers, much of Europe had been aflame. Africa had come off relatively unscathed. The beating heart of the coalition found a base in Hero’s homeland.  
The crackling hum of massive shields makes Kouta twitchy. He’d forgotten how odd they felt. The feeling fades when he enters the grand building housing High Command, led forward by a high-ranking official. They walk as fast as Kouta’s legs allow before they come across two giant doors emblazoned with the scales and sword of the Coalition.  
Kouta enters the chamber carefully. The lights are dimmed and his eyesight isn’t what it used to be.  
Arrayed before him are the men and women who control half of the world. The real leaders, not the representatives of each nation. These are the people who can give orders for war without question. They are also the people who can grant peace.  
“Lords and Ladies of the Euro-African Coalition, I thank you for indulging me with your time,” he says.  
As best as he can at his age, he bows before them. It is a shallow bow but given that it takes him a few moments to rise and his face is flushed with exertion, it is the best he can do.  
“I ask that you forgive my rudeness,” he continues with a gentle smile. “In my advanced age, bowing at the waist is something of my past.”  
One woman of dark skin and harder eyes glares at Kouta. She is the current Exemplar of Justice, an ancient title that Hero was bestowed. It is a legacy unbroken for generations.  
“Skip this nonsense. We’ve allowed you here out of respect. Do not waste our time.”  
“I have no power,” Kouta says. “I’m a historian, nothing more. I'm not part of the diplomatic corps. I’m not part of any government body. I may be part of a housing committee and I'm Acting Chair of Vladivostok University History department. But other than that, I’m a private citizen. I have no positions of power.”  
“You have no power?” the representative of the SAEC from Zimbabwe, one Simba Gomwe, asks mockingly. His English is perfect, so distinct that after hearing it once, Kouta's had an easier time differentiating it over any British dialect of English.  
“I have no position. If you mean physical power, then you must remember I'm in my eighties and I have no quirk.”  
The representative of the Coalition Intelligence Bureau, Jaroslaw Malinowski, chuckles derisively. “Oh, you've certainly mastered rhetoric under the heel of your tyrant kings. You claim to have no power, yet one committed genocide for you. You claim to have no power, yet your orders led to the invasion of America. You claim to have no power, yet the curriculum you choose is taught on every colony world. You're exceedingly powerful for someone with no power.”  
“Those are all factual statements,” Kouta agrees cheerfully. “However, they lack context. That invasion would have happened regardless, I merely encouraged Tokoyami to exercise restraint and remember human dignity. I never once sat down with the Minister of Education and told him what should be on the curriculum. People merely adopted my views on necessary education in space, and they never consulted me. I never once condoned that genocide and I have repeatedly, and publicly, condemned it. Yet, I could no more stop it than I could stop a hurricane.”  
“You seem to have tamed three hurricanes,” the Zimbabwean says.  
He looks around, realising he’s a stranger in a strange land trying to force leaders to obey him. From their hard eyes, most want to shoot him and get started with the war.  
“I think I understand why we can't seem to reach the slightest middle ground.”  
“Because you come here bearing the poisonous words of tyrants.”  
“No, it's because you’re not used to negotiating with a man that abhors politics. You see, whilst you have constituents and demographics to consider, I do not. I know nothing of border disputes outside of history books and my knowledge of socioeconomics is frankly atrocious. But I know two things, three rather. Firstly, I know history, modern-day history to be specific. I can tell you every detail of the Last Hero Wars and Zimbabwe’s Mupedzanhamo Crusaders, the Cloverfield Cultist Experiments and the Pan-African Treaty formation. I know the history of the Federation and I charted that fateful night. I know my books serve as parts of your counterintelligence education.”  
“The supposed Great Historian finally shows his arrogance.”  
Kouta shrugs. “I suppose it does come off as arrogance but it is my life’s work.”  
He takes a sip of water, savouring it for a moment. He will not do something so insensitive as waste the time of these great men and women.  
“The second thing I know is that you're worried I'm nothing more than a distraction for an invasion. I know you worry about your family. I know you can't tell what to do about me since I wear no mask, and you’re all wondering if it’s a supreme manipulation. I also know that fundamentally, all of you are good people because you aren’t demanding anything absurd. You're simply trying to keep your sovereignty and cultural identity against a warmongering expansionist empire with a total contempt for human rights led by three people who collectively have engineered the greatest loss of life humanity has ever experienced.  
“The third thing I know are those three people with more human rights violations and crimes against humanity than every dictator and warlord put together. I know Fumikage Tokoyami and I know what he thinks. I don’t have to ask him to know he’s ready to kill much of your leadership should I be harmed. I don’t need to be with Shouto Todoroki to know he’s hoping this fails so he can burn your armies. And I certainly don’t need to know Izuku Midoriya to know that, despite his oaths, he is more than ready to commit genocide should I perish.”  
The Zimbabwean representative scoffs. “Did you come here merely to intimidate us?”  
"No. The reason they will do none of that is that I've asked them not to. I’ve gone on my knees and begged them to have faith in human decency.” He smiles wryly. “At my age, that’s not very good for the knees.”  
“Then why are you here.”  
“I believe a war with you will just be another billion lives lost and forgotten. That's why I've come to speak to you. Not Fumikage who can't handle an insult to his pride. Not Izuku the hypocrite with a mean temper. And certainly not Shouto who would give you a list of demands and a timeframe to comply. I'm not here to negotiate. I'm here to bridge the gap between us and open a genuine dialogue. I come with no mask, no entourage, and certainly no weapons. I’m here merely as a... I suppose a perspective on future history.”  
“Do you honestly think a few words are enough to do anything?”  
“Of course they are,” he says sincerely. “A few words built the two largest empires this world has ever seen. Your Coalition and their Federation. They sought humanity unified and you sought freedom from tyrants. A few words have killed hundreds of millions. A few words may very well be all it takes for permanent peace. And thus, I propose you join the Federation as an equal member-state."  
The reaction to that is chaos. Before he can get his last words out, insults and curses are hurled his way. He can't make out a single thing from the dozen different languages being spoken, his translator failing to keep up.  
Eventually, the Exemplar restores order to the floor.  
“And the Great Historian reveals guess true intentions. Perhaps we should just kick you out and be done with this nonsense.”  
He shrugs. “What offer of trust can I give?”  
“Tell us your plans,” someone he doesn’t recognise says snidely.  
"I plan to avoid bloodshed. Their plan is, through whatever means, unify humanity in the solar system in preparation for the threat against Jupiter and beyond. I’m willing to give whatever concession you want.”  
“And now the powerless man speaks for a nation.”  
This is getting nowhere.  
“Tell me what you want.”  
“I want your empire gone,” the Polish man says. “I want your military gone from the borders.”  
“That's simple enough. But you're worried that the Federation will do that and take a ten, maybe fifteen-year peace. And in that time, they’ll do what they always do. They’ll incite civil unrest, sow dissent, and eventually destroy your cultural fabric. That’s what they did to countries like India and Chile. Why do you think they won’t do it to you?”  
“What do you offer for Federation? What benefit is there to this madness?”  
“There’s always peace. Do you want 55% of the member votes? Sure, they'll agree so long as it comes from me. The other representatives might be upset that their power is being diluted, but ultimately the Federation is a dictatorship.”  
“And over the next forty years, your masters will reverse that decision and erode that power."  
“Ah, yes this is a common problem in history. Will you great men permit me to give you a quick lesson?”  
The Exemplar silences everyone before they get rowdy once more. He wonders if anyone in this room has slept more than three hours a night in the last three months.  
“Speak.”  
He smiles. This, at least, is something he knows very well. “The fundamental rule of the Great Game proposes that any empire that maintains its means of control, communication and commerce will last. But that is exactly why empires fail in the end. The problems of succession, the problems of centralised government—maintaining power and communicating effectively—and the issue of technological advance that can't be predicted. You're applying those failure theories to your own Empire, and I use the term loosely intentionally, because I think you understand that the Federation doesn't have these issues.  
“What succession problem will there be if there is one ruler for a hundred thousand years? How does military might wane when the same ruler can destroy your country, or planet even, any day of the week? Can communication ever be a problem when quantum entanglement allows instant communication between the ruler and his distant colony worlds? And if the issue of communication is solved, how can there be a question of decentralisation of power? Inherently, you all know the answer to these problems. This empire cannot fail.”  
Kouta learnt Failure Theory from the three kings when he was younger. Some of it was through formal lessons. Sometimes it was through logic puzzles after major events. Often, though, he learnt it from simply attending the private meetings the kings had, meetings they never once thought to bar him from entering.  
Those lessons are why he knows this is his last chance to save mankind. Humans were born to struggle and forge their own destiny. Humanity was meant to rule itself. Rule under the gods will be nothing short of complete stagnation. Their overwhelming presence will choke the human spirit.  
The men and women in this room will have to make the hardest choice in history. It'll seem like a loss, but he knows peace will be a great victory.  
“Everything fails eventually.”  
“Everything human, yes,” he agrees. “Applying failure theory to this coalition of yours shows it being consumed by the Federation with varying degrees of death. That is the only real outcome.”  
“Can I shoot him already?” someone in the back asks.  
That makes Kouta laugh, genuinely surprised. “Perhaps in a few minutes you can march me to your firing squads?"  
It makes no one laugh but it does diffuse some of the tension in the room.  
“Go on.”  
“I began by saying I knew three things: historical trends, people in general, and three individuals in specific. They make me uniquely suited to apply an accurate failure theory to the Federation. You see, If you apply failure theory to the Federation, everything comes back to three kings. Everything. There are, broadly speaking, two modes for failure. Personal and personnel. Respectively, it’s a matter of whether they give up power on their own or they have no human race to rule over. We don't matter in the equation, you see. By we, I mean humanity. We're by-products at best. Our wishes don't matter.”  
When someone holds your life in check constantly, how much do your wishes matter? The sun will keep burning no matter how much humanity asks it to stop.  
“You need to remember they aren’t human. They look human and speak in a human language but they aren’t really human. They’re physical constants in the universe, acting at humanity. In forty years, most of us in this room will be dead. A century from now, the three of them will look no older, will have barely perceived the passage of time, and will have unified the solar system under their rule. They won’t even remember this year. They won’t remember the results of these negotiations. They might remember I was here, but it will just be another thing I was there for. I hope you understand what I'm saying. They will get their way, regardless. All that matters is the shape the intervening years take. I hope for peace.”  
“They’ve brainwashed you.”  
He shakes his head. “No, I’ve seen what they can do and I’ve seen the potential they have for ruin. It terrifies me but I’ve learnt there’s no point fearing time or gravity or life or darkness. Those will exist whether or not I rage against them.”  
“You’ve given up.”  
“The true reason I came is to ask if peace is possible. If it is, then maybe, just maybe, the cruel gods masquerading at humanity might take that lesson to heart. But if it isn’t, then what difference do their actions make. I came here to ask what the human spirit will look like for the next century.”  
Kouta stands slowly, leaning against his cane. His right knee flares up, an old injury that never stopped hurting.  
“Where do you think you're going?”  
“Home,” he says. “I’ve given you my perspective as a historian. Now I'm going to leave you to discuss the fate of your coalition. I have, even with the best technology, only forty years in me. A few of you will live longer than that. I can't afford to waste time listening to you bicker. My girlfriend is waiting for me.”  
He bows before them.  
“Please excuse me. Anyway, no matter the choice you make, to record it is my duty as a historian. Just as I'll record this star chamber conversation factually and without embellishment. I hope future generations remember you fondly. No matter the choice you make, I sincerely wish you happiness and joy.”  
He smiles once more.  
“It was a pleasure speaking to you. May the odds ever be in your favour.”  
*****  
Age is the great enemy of all mortals.  
It is decades since the day he left Wyoming, never to return to America. Decades since he set out to start his life’s work. He’s done much since then and been decorated with dozens of awards and accolades as a historian. Perhaps his most memorable being his achievement in world peace. But none of his achievements will stay away death.  
His body has been ravaged by a disease their best scientists haven’t been able to find a cure for. The best they managed was to ease his suffering when it manifested six months ago. Since then, it has withered his flesh and chewed through the reserves of muscle he managed to maintain.  
It has not taken away his mind. Today is the that day enough is enough. Today is the day he chooses to meet his mother and father and all the rest that died for him. He’ll meet the man that became his husband and the woman Kouta loved when he passed.  
He has no children of his own but dozens of students. He has given them all some of his remaining time. One thing a teacher must always do is prepare his students for a time when the teacher is gone. Some require only a smile or a kind word. Others still are struck with grief and must be consoled. He knows them all, knows their failings and glories.  
When he has given time to his students, he gives time to those that matter most. The children Fumikage adopted and their descendants visit him, and he speaks to them, imparting the final lessons that he can. It is a simple lesson, told in different ways for each of them. The simplest, however, belongs to the youngest amongst them.  
“Be brave,” he whispers hoarsely. “Never be cruel and never be cowardly. And if you are, then make amends.”  
He speaks to Spinner through messages. The Great Dragon has become that in truth, a winged colossus enforcing Izuku’s will throughout the solar system and granting wishes here and there. There is little that must be said between them. Kouta has long since forgiven him his part in the deaths of Mandalay and Tiger and the rest.  
“I hope you live a long life,” he says in his last message. “I know the years have been difficult and that they will continue to be so. I know you’re upset I never finished your story, but space was the frontier I could not record. I leave it to my student to write your book: Shuichi Iguchi, A Disciple's Last Wish. Take care. Your wish to sleep will come true one day. Your friend till the end, Kouta.”  
Fumikage Tokoyami comes next. The man is much more open than in his youth and he smiles easily in his odd way. He even wears bright clothes today. They talk of nothing and everything, his presence more than enough for Kouta. He knows exactly how busy Fumikage is.  
“You lived a good life,” Fumikage says, probably centuries-old but looking no older than his twenties. “I am proud of you.”  
Kouta laughs weakly. "Don't be facetious. I was a little shit."  
“Maybe in your youth. But your achievements as a man are magnificent. Your words are held in the same regard that we held Hawkmoon and Ando and Ononoki.”  
"Please, don't insult those legends. I am but a poor successor."  
“No. I believe you are the only successor worthy of them. You are the man who unified the Earth with your words. You said no to a future of violence and showed us a new way forward.” Fumikage bows his head. “Tsukuyomi, The Chains that Bind. All of what am I, who I am, my drives and my desires, contained in a single book. All the lessons I learnt; you allowed millions to hear. There are no words sufficient to encapsulate my gratitude. So, I will repeat the first lesson I learnt. 'Without empathy, we cannot call ourselves human.'"  
“Ryo Asuka, the Pillars of Moral Heroics. A seminal read.”  
“Yes. It is thanks to you I remembered that lesson.”  
He remembers the day Fumikage called, terrified and grieving from the deaths he would order that day. A step away from breaking totally, Kouta had imparted the most important lesson he could ever learn.  
“California was the last time. You did not fail again. I am glad I could mentor you.”  
“Goodbye, my friend. It was an honour to meet you.”  
Those are the last words he will share with Fumikage Tokoyami, one of three gods he has the opportunity of meeting.  
Shouto Todoroki is the second to last person he will speak with. He wears a simple shirt and waistcoat, decorated only with a gold chain around his neck, a gift from Momo Yaoyorozu when they were younger. His beard is braided to a single knot, the latest style in a long list of failed experiments. His dark eye observes Kouta and strips him bare.  
“Is it wrong that I’m relieved this is it?” Shouto asks bluntly.  
Honestly, Kouta is surprised Shouto never killed him.  
“Why are you relieved?”  
The living heart of the godflame takes a seat beside Kouta’s bed in the resplendent chamber. The crystal chandeliers and metallic sculptures are ostentatious, but he has learnt to accept them.  
“Because it means the mortals are gone,” Shouto says, not unkindly. “I believe Spinner will live an age with us, becoming bigger and bigger until his final death. But you are the last mortal I know and love.”  
Love is a stretch, Kouta thinks but refuses to say. Cruelty and love are much the same for Shouto.  
“Ah, you’re afraid of the loss that comes from love.”  
“Yes.”  
“Then make me a promise.”  
Shouto hesitates, his face taking on the expression he has when he looks at possible futures. It is the same face he had when he explained the truth of Jupiter’s threat.  
“I can’t see this future.”  
Kouto rolls his eyes. No matter how old the three of them get, none of them really mature. They are still as petty and spiteful and inconsiderate as they were when they were teenagers.  
“Promise me you’ll learn to love people. Compassionately. Ethically. Kindly.”  
“That’s a hard promise.”  
“I think all immortals need a code of ethics they abide by. That shall be the core of yours.” Kouta smiles. “I believe you won’t reach the end of this quest for years yet, but I ask that you try. Promise me that, at least.”  
Shouto inclines his head. “This promise I do accept.”  
“Amaterasu, a Bargain of Passion. Yours was always a struggle of your love and losses. Now go. Learn to love and smile and be happy with us mere mortals. If you can’t, then my life has been pointless.”  
“My memories. My respect. My admiration. Everything I feel for you will be recorded by the godflame. It is the only testament I can give to you.”  
Kouta laughs, his throat dry. “To be remembered by God. Thank you.”  
No more words will be shared between them. Kouta will never again impart his wisdom on the god in human form. Shouto will need to learn to walk his path without his guidance. It will be a long and arduous journey for someone who has forgotten how to care for humans.  
The last person is the most important. Izuku Midoriya is always a delight to be around. He walks with the air of someone who has had their faith in mankind renewed. He is short in stature, but his presence is that of someone willing to save anyone and everyone. In his dark uniform and green cape, he looks every bit the legend Kouta remembers from his youth.  
“Hello, brother.”  
Izuku sits and holds Kouta’s withered hand. “You haven’t called me that in decades. I’ve… missed it.”  
“It was not needed. You’re not an insecure boy in need of reassurance.”  
“I doubt that some days. It’s been nearly a century, but it barely feels like that.”  
“The bane of the immortal. The passage of time is the ultimate enemy.”  
“Yes. It seems like yesterday you negotiated peace on earth.”  
“Sixteen years isn’t yesterday,” he chides. “You did a bad job. Shouto didn’t have a code of ethics he lived by.”  
Izuku frowns. “You know how difficult things are between us. I didn’t want to start a fight.”  
“That was the one fight you should have fought,” he chides. “Your love makes you a hypocrite. Never forget that and always confront it, no matter the pain.”  
“I know.”  
“Then you should not have failed Shouto.”  
“I guess I’ll always disappoint you.”  
“All immortals need a code of ethics. All For One was right in that regard. Without it, you are predisposed to cruelty. Fumikage long ago chose his four pillars with empathy foremost. You eventually remembered that the individual was more important than the outcome, you chose compassion and human dignity, and for that, I will forever respect you. And Shouto will one day learn to love kindly and gently.”  
“The world is in safer hands thanks to you.”  
“It is safe only because you chose to be good and just. Earth is at peace. I believe you will bring that same peace to the stars.”  
“One day I want to retire.”  
“But not yet. I remember the day you were ready to abdicate. You looked so happy until you committed your Great Sin. I wish you had been strong enough to groom me as a successor as Shouto planned. It would have saved you much pain.”  
“I wanted to spare you the pain of ruling.”  
“That is why I will always love you. I know it is hard, but there is work you must still do. Bridge the expanse of space, attain victory at Jupiter and prepare mankind for the horrors past this solar system.”  
Izuku grips his hand tighter. “The story never ends.”  
“No. But I’m happy you finished that book,” Kouta says. “That part of your story is over.”  
Izuku smiles. “I wouldn’t have been able to without you. Izuku Midoriya, A Legacy Through the Ages. I still think yours was better.”  
Kouta smiles back. “Susanoo, My Glory and My Guilt.”  
“There was a lot of guilt. I had to give up my ideals. I broke my oaths and committed so many crimes. I thought it would be so easy as a child.”  
“It was the naivete that made you worth following. Your legacy is old and rich. You built a paradise because you had the will to live just as Hawkmoon foretold. You learnt to see good and uplifted it where Stormwind could not. You upheld the spirit of the law and human dignity. Both Hero and Ononki would be proud of who you are now.” Kouta coughs weakly. “You made mistakes, grave and terrible mistakes that can never be forgiven, but you moved past them in the end. You built something wonderous out of that terrible legacy. Despite the blood you split and the pain you inflicted upon mankind, I believe that both Toshinori and All For One can rest easy now.”  
Izuku cries as easily as he did as a child but only for those he loves and cherishes.  
“They can only rest easy because of you,” Izuku says, voice cracking at the end. “You’re a human who told the Gods no, and those Gods listened. I don’t think there’s a greater achievement in human history.”  
Kouta takes a shallow breath, almost overwhelmed by emotion. He could stay, he knows, and let Fumikage or Shouto heal him. He could choose to stay beside his brother and watch over him.  
He won’t, even if he does give the idea more than a moment’s consideration.  
“They have time yet to surpass us all. Our lives are short and fleeting. Candles and embers to your supernovas.” Kouta smiles gently. “But a candle can banish the dark and single ember can start a bonfire around which families can gather, lovers can know each other, and individuals can find joy within themselves. Only in knowing that our lives are transient do they have meaning.”  
Izuku brings Kouta’s hand close to his chest.  
“I don’t want to say goodbye.”  
“I know, but all things end. There are pages in your story yet untold. Fill them with kindness, dear brother.”  
“Thank you, for everything.”  
Kouta closes his eyes. “I think it’s time.”  
His brother is smiling but there is only sadness to it. “I’ll stay with you till the end.”  
“Thank you.”  
He does stay. Izuku, his brother and closest friend, stays with Kouta till his last breath.  
Kouta Midoriya, formerly Izumi, dies at the ripe old age of a hundred and seven. He will be remembered by many as the Great Historian, the man who charted the end of the Modern Era of Heroics, collected the tales of the fateful night the Federation was dreamt of and recorded Izuku Midoriya’s ascendance and his conquest. Some will remember him as the founder of the Wyoming Water Hoses, the greatest stabilising influence in North America. Mankind will remember him as the bloodless peacemaker who unified Earth with his words.  
Students will remember him as a teacher.  
Shuichi Iguchi will remember him as an ally.  
Fumikage Tokoyami will remember him as a friend.  
Shouto Todoroki will remember him as a mentor.  
Izuku Midoriya will remember him as a brother.  
Everyone has a story  
And all stories have meaning.  
Everything may end one day  
But those stories will only be forgotten  
If we stop telling them.


End file.
